Shell Shock
by jae-vous
Summary: She can't compartmentalize the side effects indefinitely.
1. Anticipation

_So yeah, I've got Fog finished... except for the next chapter. I'm still working through that. I haven't been very focused as of late._

_But this idea came to me while I sat waiting for the power to come back on during the hurricane._

_Hope everyone is safe and sound!_

* * *

shell `shock

**noun**

_a psychological disturbance caused by prolonged exposure to active warfare, especially being under bombardment. _

* * *

**Anticipation**

The first time Ziva fires a gun, it's with anticipation.

She feels no fear, no unease.

It's her 13th birthday when Eli announces over breakfast she would be joining him and Ari that day.

They arrive at the range, and Eli leads the way up to the ominous entrance where security waits to receive them.

She skips past an unusually quiet and solemn Ari, a contrast of her demeanor; she's all wonder and bright-eyed curiosity.

.

The range isn't tremendously far, but it's no child's distance.

Ziva remembers her father chuckling at her confidence as she planted her stance; him leaning down,

positioning her,

murmuring careful instructions softly to her as she took aim;

It's one memory that has stuck with her all these years.

_Now, Zivaleh, the most prudent rule of commanding a gun is to learn how to master your emotions, _

_b__ecause reacting rashly and impulsively is what turns this gun into a weapon._

Her eyes snap to the next stall as Ari fires six times systematically from the next section over, a controlled mask settled over his features.

She shifts her focus back, breathes deeply, squints, and fires.

Her first shot meets it's paper target, and then some, landing in the bulls eye as the lingering echo bounces off the walls.

Her own grin is mirrored in her father's face.

Ziva searches for Ari's reaction, pride washing through her.

Her older half brother observes her from where he stands, reloading his rounds, a distant look in his eyes that are laden with a sadness she, at the time, didn't yet understand.

"And so it begins," he whispers under his breath, as he brings his loaded weapon up to eye level, firing off another succession of rounds.


	2. Adrenaline

**Adrenaline**

The first time she fires on a mission, she's fueled with adrenaline.

They are flying through the narrow alleys tucked away deep within the heart of Moscow.

She clings to Ari as he maneuvers the narrow, cobbled streets with impressive ease, the Ducati's purr growing louder with increased speed.

They're no match for their native pursuers, however; their familiarity of the town evident each time they come close to outstripping the duo through unknown shortcuts.

Ari turns sharply, screeching and rounding a corner and Ziva's laughter peels out melodically; fear for the very real danger they are in, absent.

She hears Ari mutter a curse, and can practically hear his eyes roll.

"Ziva," he commands loudly over the roar of their engine, "Stay focused. Hurry, at my side, theres-"

Ziva's already reaching for his back-up, turning her head just as their pursuers fly around another hidden street.

She takes a breath;

Aim, level weapon, release.

Her three rounds find their homes in the center of their chests.

The one arm she's kept wound tightly around Ari's waist feels his slight jerk, tension at the sound of the three shots.

In the next second, another peel of laughter rings in his ear as she settles behind him, relaxing.

"Relax, Ari." She chides as she feels his tension dissipate.

Ari says nothing; his face a stark contrast from her own.

His eyes darken and grow colder; each loss of her innocence is a loss of his own.

Her adrenaline is enough to chase away the demons, for now.


	3. Revenge

**Revenge**

The first time she shoots with revenge in her heart, she was far too consumed with vengeance to feel how the small crack in her soul began to splinter and fracture.

Blind rage, fury, and grief propel her from her father's office.

Twenty missed calls go unanswered as her cellphone vibrates for no one, in a trash can within 20 steps of Mossad Headquarters - only to be found later when she's too far gone.

She takes the Ducati, swaps it for a generic four car in the least ostentatious color at a gas station fifty miles out, running it on empty until she discards it in favor of a mini cooper, that's only granted a moment of her appreciation for it's sleek design and responsive navigation, before her heart-wrenching turmoil propels her to a final destination.

Abandoning the car in front of complex that stands unaware of an impending showdown, she rushes toward the most unobtrusive entrance, devoid of any motivation other than the wrath of one thousand soldiers.

She takes only two loaded guns, and her knife.

It's all she has.

But that's all she needs.

The complex soon echoes from the hailstorm of her emptying magazines, and no bullet is wasted. Each find's a target.

Ziva storms the halls without backward glances, seeing red.

On the final floor is where her misjudgment finally eclipses her luck.

It's _this close_ to being over when she steps foot across the threshold of a small room.

The perpetrator responsible for her vehemence stands over her with a machine gun that finally struck something remotely like panic in her heart. the feeling passes with a fierce wipe at her bloodied face, gushing from the blow.

Resignation settles within her milliseconds before a knife flies above her head, right into his heart. He drops before surprise even registers on his face.

She doesn't even blink. She merely stares at the familiar knife;

the precision of the throw could be from no one other than...

"Ari." she says aloud; monotone, empty.

His steps are slow as he approaches her, and he helps her up, and she pulls the knife from the vile that she now associates with the devil himself.

She doesn't meet his gaze as he speaks.

"I Thought you may like your knife back. I found it two floors down, west."

She says nothing. He catches the look in her eyes when her gaze flew to focus on the far side of the room.

His stomach rolls with a sick wave.

He knows that look.

He_ is_ that look; her eyes mirror his own.

Dark, consumed, devoid.

"Ziva."

"Do not."

He waits a beat.

"This is not what Tali would have wanted."

A dry sob escapes her, and she whirls, flinging her knife into the wall.

"Tali wanted _none of this_," her voice breaks as she yells, slumping to the floor.

Ari stands vigil in the darkened room, as the night envelopes them in the wake of their sorrow,

their only connection to innocence in their world, irrevocably gone.


End file.
